Live Life or Befriend Death
by meowthecat
Summary: AU crossover with The Hollow Crown. Centuries have passed since C.C. received the Code. After two failed contracts, she turns to the House of Lancaster to bestow the Power of Kings on those who are more fit to receive it. But the gods are capricious, and wishes may be altered...
1. Prologue

A/N: As I watched _The Hollow Crown_, a BBC production made in 2012(!) of some of Shakespeare's plays known as the "Henriad" all together, I observed the eventually miserable lives of the kings. And C.C.'s remarks on how the Power of Kings isolates the people who wield it came to mind.

One thought led to more wild thoughts that came one after the other, and… here we are. Title is based off a famous song, and if you guys haven't figured it out already you'll likely figure it out eventually. xD

I consider this an AU because Code Geass's own history is very convoluted and really improbable. So the Shakespeare canon remains pretty much intact, with the semi-historical major characters and minor characters all there. I really _really _hope I get all the character traits for each of them down; PLEASE let me know if I'm doing ANYTHING wrong and suggest how I can change it.

There are some additions (including C.C., of course!) and alterations, but I'm not going to play all my cards now. You'll have to watch this story present itself. ;)

The curtain rises!

-V-

Live Life or Befriend Death

-V-

The woman regarded her pupil: he was a child, _the _child of the Black Prince Edward. And now he was King Richard the Second. The boy had been coronated, at the age of ten, once his father died of a long disease.

Tonight she had told him a bedtime story, one with a cheery tone but little truth. Now he slept mostly soundly, which left the woman time to contemplate. So this is what she said.

"Let us…" Hesitant to accidentally wake the sleeping king, she stopped for a brief moment. Then she continued softly.

"Tell sad stories of the death of kings: how some have been depos'd, some slain in war, some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd, some poison'd by their wives, some sleeping kill'd."

"All murder'd."

-V-

Twenty-two years later, the woman was by a different bed—one of age rather than youth. John of Gaunt lay in it, ill and near death, but still possessing alert green eyes that watched her.

"If you had made the contract with me, things would not be as they are," she said flatly.

Gaunt chuckled. "Life is full of possibilities that pass men by, many of them only apparent with old age."

"Regardless," he continued, "I am of the same mind about your offer as I was all those years ago."

"Then no it is still." The woman smirked with fondness. _It would be too late either way. A contract with those already on their deathbeds is a waste of time._

Still, he was someone with whom she had enjoyed matching wits—his passing would be cause for some sadness, she suspected.

"Now then… shall I carry out your last request of me with due speed and haste?" she asked.

Gaunt nodded. With the last look at him alive she believed she would ever have, the woman turned and walked towards the door of his chamber. But then:

"If you plan to offer your contract to any of my children—nay, any of my descendants—your offer will be in vain."

She stopped in her tracks before regaining her composure. "I only make contracts with those whom I deem worthy."

"And long have you held the House of Lancaster in that regard," the Duke of that same house continued. "And I say again: an attempt to forge a contract with any of us will be a waste of effort. We of this house are proud, and are not inclined to accept… assistance…" he wheezed, "of this sort."

"Pride swells and ebbs with the tide of life, good Lancaster."

"But there is a certain specimen of pride… that is inherent to certain men." John of Gaunt's expression grew prideful itself as he imparted his last lesson to the woman. "It is this pride that compels them to strive for the heights of glory with their own prowess. Yes… some of these men may tread a lonely path. Your contract promises this as well."

"But the Sun rises and sets in time, breaking through the darkness of night or foul vapors and shining with its own light. It exists within the normal flow of providence, the normal flow of time, the normal flow of life. And it is thus I and all my issue strive for the height of glory, and in no way else."

At Gaunt's last statements, she was silent. Perhaps he was right.

But she, she herself lived in a providence, time, life that were different from even those whom she made contracts with. She was not the Sun. She was an inheritor of a power far greater.

So, then, it was entirely possible for her to subvert the Sun and everyone like it. _After all, I have outlived most of the people I have known…_

Guessing her thoughts, John of Gaunt spoke again. "For all the ways you are different from mortal men, you, too, are still human. And even though I would prefer that you take all my advice, and even if you disregard everything else I have ever told you… Remember that." He lifted an arm and pointed at her. "It is a dying man's request," he quipped at her.

She turned to look at him and smiled, knowing that this was the last time they would ever talk on this earth.

"Goodbye, John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster."

His arm lowered, and he smiled back.

"Goodbye, C.C."


	2. The Tale of Richard II

A/N: Can't believe I'm starting on this chapter right after I uploaded the first one. :o I must be stricken with the inspiration bug and I hope this keeps up.

Some of the Shakespeare dialogue gets a little complicated in this chapter. If any of you get confused as to what the hell any/everyone is saying and C.C.'s explanation at the end doesn't clear it up, you can send me a PM or leave a review about it and I'll get back to you with haste! ; )

Eggsie: Why thank you! : )

Although I hesitate to call these characters actual historical figures, as I'm sure Shakespeare, the dudes who adapted his work for the 2012 miniseries, and now me, write them differently from the way they acted in real life. Then again, you could say the whole thing is an alternate universe (loosely) based on a true story. xD

Speaking of which, let's continue!

-V-

The Tale of Richard II

-V-

It was an oddly warm winter day, and England was about to enter spring. Rivers still flowed and the trees still kept their leaves.

King Richard the Second, now a man, sat with his favorites and close servants on a small stone bridge. They threw stones in the stream and watched the ripples spread on impact.

Into this scene entered Aumerle, the son of the Duke of York. He was at that age when one was a boy and a man at the same time; his hair was brown and short, his face beardless.

All eyes were on him as he climbed up on the bridge and sat a few steps down from the king, for he had just completed an important mission: to escort his cousin Harry Bolingbroke, the Duke of Hereford, to the shore. There a boat waited to take the Duke to France, for he had been exiled by Richard.

"Cousin Aumerle," the king asked, "how far brought you high Hereford on his way?"

"I brought high Hereford, if you call him so, but to the next highway, and there I left him," Aumerle answered.

"And say, what store of parting tears were shed?"

"Faith, none for me; except the north-east wind, when then blew bitterly against our faces, awak'd the sleeping rheum, and so by chance did grace our hollow parting with a tear.

Richard contemplated, and then asked: "What said our cousin when you parted with him?"

Aumerle hesitated.

-V-

_The previous day on the shore had been, by contrast, wet with a cold wind. All—the sea, the sand, even the supposedly green grass on the nearby hills—seemed grey except for what Aumerle and Bolingbroke wore—the former in all blue, the latter, while in plain traveling clothes, wearing a large red scarf. A boat waited in the waves for its banished passenger._

_Bolingbroke strode towards the edge of the water before stopping and turning to take his last view of England for what he believed to be many years._

"_Fair England's ground, farewell," he began emotionally, and then knelt to grasp the wet sand. "Sweet soil, adieu!" Then he looked up at the hills with sad eyes. "My mother, and my nurse, that bears me yet!"_

_He rose to his feet and turned back to the sea with both anger and determination._

"_Where'er I wander, boast of this I can, though banish'd, yet a true-born Englishman!"_

-V-

"'Farewell,'" Aumerle decided to say.

Richard looked at him suspiciously.

"Marry," York's son added, "would the word 'farewell' have lengthen'd hours and added years to his short banishment, he should have had a volume of farewells; but since it would not, he had none of me."

"He is our _cousin_," the king chided as he twirled a flower in his hands, "cousin."

There was a second's silence as Richard thought and remembered before he continued. "We did observe his courtship to the common people, how he did seem to dive into their hearts with humble and familiar courtesy. What reverence he did throw away on slaves, wooing poor craftsmen with the craft of smiles and patient underbearing of his fortune, as 'twere to banish their affects with him."

He added: "Off goes his bonnet to an oyster-wench; a brace of draymen bid God speed him well, and had the tribute of his supple knee, with 'Thanks, my countrymen, my loving friends'; as were our England in reversion, his."

"Well, he is gone," said Green, one of the king's favorites, "and with him go these thoughts."

Richard took his advice and refocused.

"Now for the rebels which stand out in Ireland," Green continued, "expedient manage must be made, my liege, ere further leisure yield them further means for their advantage and Your Highness' loss."

"We will Ourself in person to this war," Richard said. "And, for our coffers, with too great a court and liberal largess, are grown somewhat light, We are enforc'd to farm our royal realm; the revenue whereof shall furnish us for our affairs in hand."

He continued: "If that come short, our substitutes at home shall have blank charters; whereto, when they shall know what men are rich, they shall subscribe them for large sums of gold, and send them after to supply our wants; for We will make for Ireland presently."

Suddenly another servant by the name of Bushy ran up to the bridge and stopped, out of breath and putting his hands on his knees.

"Bushy, what news?" The king asked.

"Old John of Gaunt is grievous sick, my lord," he replied, "suddenly taken, and hath sent poste-haste to entreat your Majesty to visit him."

"Where lies he?"

"At Lancaster."

"Tell his messenger that we shall come."

"Yes, My Lord." Bushy immediately turned around and sped back to whence he came.

"Now put it, God, in his physician's mind to help Our uncle to his grave immediately," Richard said. "The lining of his coffers shall make coats to deck our soldiers for these Irish wars."

Bushy came back quickly. At the king's questioning look, he said: "The messenger from Lancaster has disappeared, with no sign of where they went."

Richard chuckled. "Come, gentlemen, let's go visit old John of Gaunt: pray God we may make haste, and come too late!"

-V-

The messenger had hidden herself and her horse, Glove, in the woods near that same stream and just two dozen feet from Richard and his company. The horse had been trained to be quiet and sneaky, and her rider was also quiet and sneaky, so the two of them made a great team when it came to espionage and the ensuing retreat.

It likely helped that her hair was a shade of green, too. Very unusual, but it did give her a small advantage when she slinked around forests to spy on those who caught her attention.

Speaking of which, this was the first time C.C. had seen Richard in years. Her former pupil had grown into an adult but still acted much like a child. She smiled wryly.

The news of Harry Bolingbroke's banishment was known all through England, but Aumerle's possible desire to protect his cousin through lying, or, on the other hand, possible _resentment_ of that same cousin was not. _Hmm, and it appears that Richard has caught on to this, too. I shall keep an eye on the boy._

She had also heard of Bolingbroke's benevolent acts towards the common man, and his ability (unusual among the nobility) to relate to them. She also knew about much of what he did in general; after all, she had often talked to his father, John of Gaunt.

Could the king himself be slightly paranoid about Bolingbroke's greater store of popularity with the people? And there was, of course, the war in Ireland to attend to. England was broke, likely because of Richard's extravagant and expensive habits.

She snorted. As usual, C.C. had been a terrible tutor. She had been too easy on him about those habits when he was younger. Teaching didn't seem to be an occupation suitable for her—perhaps she should abandon it?

But then… how would those she made contracts with know how to use the ability she gives them? After all, the two contracts before had failed, likely because of that very same lack of skill in teaching.

_No matter. _Something else was nagging her and she wasn't sure exactly what, but she was sure it had to do with the place she had just left.

_Right now, I must return to Lancaster._ But why?

Then suddenly, things that had gathered and cluttered the closet of her mind over many years fell into place. Observations. Plans. Wishes.

_Even though I will arrive after Gaunt has died, _she realized,_ some of his noble friends will still remain in mourning._

_I shall tell them about Richard's plans to tax everyone, __**especially**__ their kind, to excess, and then..._

_An uprising. _Her amber eyes widened. She had seen a few uprisings in her long life, but had never taken part in one.

But if there _was_ an uprising, and the situation became chaotic... perhaps she wouldn't have to wait so many years to lay eyes on the next Lancaster. She plotted, and then her smile faded as her satisfaction grew.

_All it would take to put things in motion would be some well-timed actions and some well-placed words. Then, once Bolingbroke comes back to England on stories of his father's death, the raiding of his estate's wealth, and the threat to the rest of the nobility, perhaps…_

Calculation and anticipation shared her eyes.

_I shall finally grant power to a true king._


End file.
